


Similar and Stark

by printers_devil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Brief Abortion Mention, Choking, F/M, Face-Fucking, Female My Unit | Byleth, Feral Dimitri, Forced Orgasm, Large Cock, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printers_devil/pseuds/printers_devil
Summary: In the messy aftermath of a battle, Byleth tracks Dimitri down to have a talk about his recklessness. Things go downhill quickly from there.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 291





	Similar and Stark

**Author's Note:**

> An entry into the venerable genre of "feral Dimitri noncons Byleth." I just cannot get enough of it, and wanted to contribute.

So this was where Dimitri spent his nights lately: the abandoned tower on the southern edge of the monastery, far from the Cathedral and the officer's academy, where no one went. For good reason, too: it took Byleth twenty minutes of picking her way over rubble and across sections of blown-in wall to reach it. No wonder they went for days without seeing Dimitri—she wondered how he ate, or whether he ate at all on those days he didn't come down to the kitchen.

At last, she stood at the base of his tower. Once, in more warlike times, this had clearly been used as a lookout post; the windows were narrow, slitted for arrows, and there was only one way in or out. At the base of the tower there was the debris of a life: torn blankets, broken lances, broken dishes, heaps of books rendered down into pulpy messes by exposure to the winter rain. A waste.

She opened the heavy door at the bottom of the tower and mounted the narrow, winding steps. She'd come here to chide him for being stupid. In the last battle, he'd broken formation and gone off on his own to kill an Imperial general. He'd succeeded, but been rewarded for his initiative with three arrows stuck in his shoulder and a number of dead soldiers on their side, good people who had just been trying to protect their king.

Gilbert had been furious. Rodrigue had been disappointed. Neither of them would do what needed to be done, and so it fell to her to set Dimitri as straight as she could manage.

The door at the top of the tower was unlocked. She nudged it open with her foot, hand on her sword, just in case he took exception to her intruding. The light was weak, and where Byleth might have expected the room to stink, there was instead a curious lack of odor, as though no one lived in here at all. It was smaller than she would have expected, from the outside radius of the tower; doors on the far side of the chamber must have led to different rooms. There were bookshelves on the walls—all emptied out.

"Professor," Dimitri said, when she walked into his room. He was laid out on his bed, armor cast aside, and he moved the blankets to cover his nudity as she entered. The scars on his torso were alarming, but no more alarming than her own. But she hadn't seen him without clothes on in years, and the difference... she had not realized how much had changed. She rarely saw him, unless it was at a briefing, or at a distance on the battlefield. He'd gotten so tall in the years she'd been gone, he'd gotten broader, and he'd lost the last vestiges of boyish roundness in his face. He'd always been inhumanly strong, but now he was muscular. And she was exactly the same.

"I see you're healing," she said.

Three arrows had gone clean through his shoulder on his way to the general, and still, he had not fallen. It had taken Mercedes and Flayn together to stitch him up quickly enough for him to be of use again. He'd insisted on it, roared at the two of them to heal him faster, even when they were plainly exhausted from keeping dozens of people alive on the battlefield. Flayn had cried afterward about what he'd said to her—said that no one had ever been so unkind to her, and that he was _not_ the gallant Dimitri she'd known of old—but that wasn't what bothered Byleth. If Flayn insisted on being on the battlefield with them, in a real war, her tears were inevitable, and she'd toughen up eventually. Byleth couldn't be sure of that, however. She had only cried once.

"I am," he said. He sat up in his bed, stretching his arms. She didn't care about his nudity. She'd grown up around mercenaries; he couldn't shock her. What did make her stomach curl in surprise was how languid the motion was. The only Dimitri she saw these days was the efficient Dimitri, the Dimitri who cut a path through the battlefield or stomped across courtyards. "Do you need something?"

No, what bothered Byleth was that Mercedes had been very angry afterward, and had spoken ill of Dimitri in front of the troops that followed her into battle. 

His tone made it clear that he'd rather throw her out of the window than talk to her. Under normal circumstances, this would be welcome. She almost preferred this Dimitri. He didn't try to make small talk or tell her about his feelings. And yet, here she was.

"You did something stupid."

He didn't try to dissemble: "I have my goals," he said. "You have yours."

"If you'd been killed—"

"I can't die until I kill Edelgard."

Byleth rested her hand on the pommel of her sword. People found it threatening when she did this, usually. "You can die."

"And where does that leave you?" He sounded entertained. "Without a Blaiddyd? Find another king. Crown Annette queen, for all I care. You know that I'm only using you, professor."

Byleth stayed silent for a long time, which made some people uncomfortable. Dimitri only watched her to see what she would do. "I'm using _you_ ," she said. "No one can replace you. This is the only thing I'm good at. If we start losing battles because you can't control yourself at the sight of Imperial blood, Gilbert will find someone to replace me."

That was more than she'd spoken at a stretch in the last three days. It felt awful.

"Why should I care?" Dimitri sounded bored with her now. "I didn't ask you to come back from the dead. I didn't ask any of you—"

"I didn't ask to be dead." If she'd really been dead. First, she'd been falling, and then she'd woken up in the bed of a stream. Nothing had happened to her at all. Everyone acted like it was a miracle, but it wasn't.

"No one does," he said. His one visible eye was blank, but insofar as Byleth could tell how anyone around her was feeling, he seemed sad, now.

She sat down on the edge of his bed. It had a nice mattress, and she wondered how he'd gotten it all the way out here without anyone noticing—if she'd been in a better mood, she might have found the image of him carrying a bed through the monastery amusing. Her eyes flicked down as Dimitri adjusted the blanket over himself, then back up to his face. He'd seen her looking, and the realization sent a hot flush through her, though she knew it didn't show on her face. It couldn't.

"Next time we go into battle, be more careful," Byleth said, as calmly as she could manage.

He tilted his head, his eyebrows lifting. "Is that an order?"

"If you need it to be, it is."

She shouldn't have taken a seat. Stupid. He barked out a laugh and took her by the arm. She let him do it; he'd never frightened her. He reeled her in toward him, so she was pressed against his naked form, sat in his lap with only the thin sheet separating their bodies. The air in the tower was chilly, but his body was hot, like being pressed against a live coal. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to curl into him. She let him unbuckle her sword of the day, a simple silver-plated blade, and shove it off the bed, sending it clattering to the cold stone floor.

"I don't listen to you," he said, his grip a steel band around her bicep. She flexed her arm, testing his strength, but he didn't let her go. "I don't need you."

"You would have gone into that bandit hole and not come out," Byleth said. "And then your friends showed up to save our lives."

Dimitri wasn't listening to her. He started peeling off her gloves, and when he was finished, he tossed them away, too. He unbuckled her cloak and subjected it to the same fate. The mountains were cold today, and she'd worn a thick blue sweater—one of Mercedes's, maybe, it had ended up in the laundry that had been brought back to her room. It was bright, and she liked it. He slid one of his hands underneath it, groping at her breasts. He held one of them in his pleasantly calloused palm and bent over to suck and kiss at the side of her neck, breathing in her scent.

"Dimitri," she said in warning tones, her hands fluttering to his back. It felt nice, his tongue and lips against her skin, but it wasn't what she was here for.

"I told you I was going to use you," he said, mouthing the words against her skin. "Don't act surprised."

If they fought, it would be ugly. It would be better to just go along with what he wanted until he got bored. He adjusted her in his lap so she was straddling him, as easily as if she was a wooden doll.

"I thought about doing this when I was your student," Dimitri said, pressing slow kisses to the hinge of her jaw, up the side of her neck, taking her earlobe between his teeth and worrying gently at it. _There,_ she thought. The pleasure was sharp, astonishing, and at her sudden, indrawn breath, her hand going to the back of his head to hold him there, she swore she felt him smile against her.

"When you wore the shirt with the opening, right here, when you were tutoring me"—he spoke directly into her ear, and as he did so he traced a line with his finger over her the top of breasts, slowly, drawing the motion out. She felt his finger like a brand through the sweater. "I thought about putting my mouth on you"—he pinched one of her nipples, made a soft noise at the back of his throat—"sucking on these until you stopped talking about how to handle an axe. Did you ever think of me, back then?"

"No," she lied, trying to marshal her wits. He was palming at both of her breasts now, his big hands full of them, unblinking gaze intent on hers.

She had thought about this, and at length. She'd thought about all of her students. Her father's mercenaries had been older than her, and under her direct command, and afraid of her, too. Before Garreg Mach, Byleth had never been around so much youth and beauty, and all of their attention had been focused on her. None of them had known about the Ashen Demon, just their beloved professor. So she'd thought about Dedue throwing her over her desk. About eating Annette's little cunt under a library table while she tried so hard to study like a good girl. Cutting Felix's clothes off of him in the training ring. Mercedes, begging her for a better grade on an essay and showing her professor just how badly she needed to be at the Officer's Academy. Sylvain, getting her drunk and doing whatever he wanted with her.

And she'd thought about Dimitri coming to her room in the middle of the night. sliding between her blankets, fucking her while she did her best to stay quiet. Here and now, she realized that Rhea never would have thrown her out on her ear for it. In fact, she could have had all the Blue Lions in her bed, and no one would have done anything about it, because of what she was, or what she had been.

But what she'd been, apart from a vessel for a goddess, was a professional. She was a professional now, too. The memories of all her fantasies came rushing back to her, made her throb between her legs, and she did not so much as turn pink.

"I used to fall asleep thinking about you, Professor," he said, his voice deeper now, lowering his mouth to suck at one of her nipples, then the other. "I used to be so ashamed about jerking off to you. If I'd known you'd be this easy...." He trailed off, going back to her breasts.

He was trying to shake her. This was all a feint, it had to be. If she was thinking about him having sex with her, about his hands on her, if he got her flustered enough, she wouldn't be thinking about his embarrassing missteps. But his cock hardening beneath her, through a blanket that was seeming thinner and thinner by the moment, put paid to that thought. She'd wanted him, but not like this.

 _Do what he wants until he gets bored,_ she thought, as he moved the blanket aside, put her hand on his cock, and showed her how to stroke it up and down in short, firm motions. He was big—longer than she'd expected him to be, longer than she'd fantasized about him being.

She spat in the palm of her hand, made her strokes even firmer, adding a twist in her wrist. Dimitri threw his head back and _moaned_ for her, and she sped up her motions. The sooner he was done, the sooner this would be over.

"Goddess, that's good, professor," he said. "Now use your mouth."

If he finished faster, this would be over sooner. He reclined on his elbows, and she eased her way down between his legs, holding herself up on her forearms between them. She knew how to do this, it wasn't hard. Most cocks were the same. "Look me in the eye," he said, his hand going to her pale green hair to move her up and down. Byleth looked up to see his face flushed, his jaw slack with pleasure. When their eyes met, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and began bobbing her head up and down on him. He thrust up into the back of her throat, erratically, with no pattern she could predict. She choked, but she soldiered on. If she brought him off, he would get bored, and then this would be over. She thought this over and over again as he let her up for breath at his whims, and her image of him was blurred with the tears that pricked at the corner of her eyes.

And still, Dimitri didn't come. He pulled Byleth's mouth off of him, and she hardly had time to cough before he'd shoved her lower, to lick his balls. Obediently, she sucked them into her mouth. There was a pleasant fog in her mind; she'd gone elsewhere. All she had to do was lick and suck at him, hear him groan. She didn't have any responsibilities outside of this room. There was only Dimitri's beautiful cock. She found herself running her lips and tongue up and down the side of it without any prompting from him but a gentle hand on the back of her head. She took it back into her mouth, putting her hands on his hips to thumb at the bones there, to run her hands down his thighs.

When finally she pulled away for a breath, grabbed her face, pushing his fingers into the hollow of her cheeks "You're not done," he said roughly.

She shook her head and tried to pull away from him, wiping the saliva from her mouth with the back of her wrist. This had gone on long enough. But he was strong—she could forget how strong he was—and with only one hand he pulled her back to him, up his body, so that she lay on top of him still fully clothed. Despite this, when she met his single eye, she was the one who felt naked. He ran his hands down her sides, over her back, shifting her into position so that his cock was between her legs, grinding against her shorts.

She lay atop him, face buried in his chest, as he moved her on him. His big hands squeezed and kneaded at her ass, sliding into her shorts now and again to feel her. She let him do as he pleased, holding onto his powerful shoulders and trembling. She could come from just this, she thought, and the idea made her shiver.

And, abruptly, he stopped. He peeled off her sweater, her heavy undershirt, freeing her breasts and groping at her as she moved on him—of her own volition now, she realized, the seam of her shorts and his hard cock rubbing against her clit. It wasn't enough, though. She wasn't going to remain detached from this after all, it seemed, her back arching into his touch as he squeezed both of her breasts together, pressing hard kisses to the tops of them.

"Dimitri," she said. Her voice was breathy, tremulous. She hated it.

In response, he grunted, held her around the waist, and shifted positions so that Byleth was on her back underneath his big, hard body. He braced himself on one arm over her, looking down into her eyes. Through her, more like. She was no more than a weapon to him, she knew. Something to be used, broken, and discarded in his pursuit of revenge. And yet he lowered his mouth back to her breasts with something that felt so much like tenderness, in how he drew his tongue in tight circles around her aching nipples, how he sucked them into his mouth, first one and then the other.

Byleth clutched Dimitri's head to her and sighed, running her hand through his hair, lifting it, letting it fall through her fingers. At the feel of it, he paused, pressed his cheek into her sternum, her clavicle. There. It was over, she thought. He'd gotten what he wanted, to embarrass her, to distract her, it didn't matter. She could leave now. She'd go back to her quarters and make herself come, and this would all be behind them. He would or would not be more careful on the battlefield. She could fix his mistakes.

Then, he reached a hand down between her legs, sliding into her shorts. "You're wet," he said, almost wondering, his fingers dipping into her folds, finding her clit. Her hips moved against him, ground on his hand, shameless. She hadn't been touched like this in so long, and it was _Dimitri_ doing it, Dimitri kissing up her chin, to her mouth, like he was her lover. When he set his lips to hers, sucked on her lower lip, she wrapped her arms around his neck, opened to him eagerly before he could coax her into it. Slowly, so slowly she hardly noticed until it was upon her, he angled his head so he could deepen the kiss. His tongue was clever, he broke through her defenses like they were paper; he was a tactician, too. She breathed in hard through her nose, and smelled the clean linen of his bedsheets, the scent of her own sex as she rocked feverishly against him. She was so close. She just needed a little more, and then this would be over.

He stopped before she could come, withdrawing his hand from her shorts. Byleth felt the loss like a blow to her shield. When she opened her mouth to whine, to protest, Dimitri's kiss changed again, ravaging her mouth now, biting at the lip he'd sucked so gently on just moments before. It addled her mind. Her cunt was still throbbing, and she had no relief. Her nipples were hard and aching where they rubbed against his chest. She could not remember a time she'd wanted anyone so badly, and all she could do was lay on his bed and take what he gave her.

Abruptly, he pulled away from her, leaving her grasping in his wake. He sat back on his heels, and he took hold of the waistband of her shorts with both of his hands. Before she could wonder at his intentions, he tore them off her, splitting them and her tights and her underclothes cleanly in two. The ripping sound was unbearably loud in the quiet of the room.

This had gone too far.

"No," she burst out, as he yanked and tugged the remnants of her tights off of her. "Dimitri, I don't want this."

He laughed at that, and when she said "No," again, he put his hands around her neck. She went limp immediately. In his student days, he'd snapped swords and sewing needles with equal regularity. It wasn't beyond her power to fight him—she was a goddess, whatever that meant, she did not feel holy right now—but neither of them would come out of a fight intact. She'd come here because his recklessness was bad for morale; seeing the two of them bruised and bloodied at each other's hands would be even worse for the troops.

Right. She was doing this for the army.

"Fight me," Dimitri said. She stared up at the ceiling, past him, breathing hard while she could still breathe. "Fight me," he repeated, rougher, more insistent now, and gave her a firm shake by the neck. In a panic, her hands flew to his chest to try to push him away, and with that, he stopped teasing and slid into her. Just the head of his cock, testing her mettle. He was thick, seemed thicker this way, now that he was pushing into her cunt. All her struggling did was work his cock deeper inside of her, and Dimitri threw back his head and groaned at the feel of it. His face was flushed red. The eyepatch hadn't moved an inch.

Byleth raked her short nails down his back, trying to draw blood even as she held him tight to her, one of his hands still around her neck. He grinned down at her, his killing grin, and pulled out of her slowly, sliding his cock through her folds. "Ask me for it," he said, pressing his cheek to hers, his voice low and deep in her ear. "Tell me you want it, professor."

"I don't," Byleth said, moving against him. When she'd imagined fucking so long ago, he'd come to her like this under the cover of night, the sweet, proper prince falling away. That prince was long dead, and what was left, the revenant... she couldn't complete the thought. The head of Dimitri's cock brushed over her clit with every stroke, and she chased the feeling in short jerks of her hips, shamelessly, mindlessly.

Even so, she squirmed, trying to wrestle her way out from under him. If she threw him on his back, she could ride his cock to completion, use him like he wanted to use her—but he held her fast. She had never been overwhelmed like this. She jerked her head forward, trying to headbutt him, and she succeeded. It was poorly executed, and the blow rung through her skull, but Dimitri took it and laughed. The pain in her head did nothing to ease her arousal.

"Say it," Dimitri said.

"No," she replied, gritting her teeth.

To her surprise, he released her. He knelt over her for a moment, half-crouched like the beast he was, searching her face for something, and then lay on his back. The curve of his hard cock pressed against his belly, and from the corner of her eye she saw him take it in one hand and jerk it rudely, running his thumb over the tip at the apex of each stroke. The motion was hypnotic.

"You want this," he said. "If you don't, get up and leave. I have no use for you."

A dozen protests crossed Byleth's mind: she was the general of his army, or, at least, the army that served him. She was his professor, and everything he knew of warfare, everything he threw aside on the battlefield, she had taught him. A dozen protests, and she spoke none of them, her gaze still fixated on his cock. She didn't want this. She did. She ached for it, she burned for it. He was telling her to rape herself on him. He'd told her to leave. She could just leave.

She sat up and clambered over Dimitri, straddling his hips. Laid on his back like this, he looked younger, almost at rest. His hands came up her stomach, tracing the muscles there, resting on her waist; even this light touch made her tremble. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "Get to work, professor."

Byleth lifted herself up and, clumsily, fitted Dimitri's cock to her entrance. To her frustration, she fumbled her first attempt to sink down on him, and he made no effort to help her. He looked up at her, cruelly amused at her eagerness. Once, she might have been able to retreat into disinterest, but not like this, not in this state. Finally, she got him lined up, and she moaned at how thick he was, every inch of him filling her up, so that there was no room for anything but Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri.

She paused at the halfway mark to collect herself. She was in a daze. She reached her hand down between her legs to rub at her clit, whimpering in mingled pleasure and pain as she tried to work up the energy to finish taking him inside of her. He snarled, impatient, and used his grip on her waist to drag her the rest of the way down. Byleth cried out, falling forward onto his chest as he thrust up into her, once, hard. It hurt, and she bit back another cry and forced herself to sit up, her hands flat on his chest.

Moving Byleth up and down on him must have cost Dimitri no more effort than lifting a sock. Even as he used her body to pleasure himself, each of his strokes hit somewhere sensitive inside her, each one hit her clit at an angle that was not quite right for her to chase her orgasm. And so Byleth screwed her eyes shut and let it happen to her, let him use her, feeling her orgasm build regardless. She was so wet, from his toying with her earlier, from his rough treatment, that it hardly hurt anymore. There was only a faint pain from the stretch, and she welcomed it. She whimpered over him, and he thrust up hard into her; her eyes flew open, looking into his single blue one.

"You wanted this," he said, through gritted teeth. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his blond hair stuck damply to his skin. "Did you come here knowing I was going to give this to you, Professor?"

She shook her head vigorously in denial, her hair falling about her face, but not enough to hide what he could assuredly see: that her eyes were glassy, her mouth was slack. When she moved her hand between her legs to play at her clit, he did not stop her. Her knees felt weak, and she was glad that he was so monstrously strong, glad for the bruises he was leaving on her hips in moving her over him.

"I think you did," Dimitri said.

Before Byleth knew what was happening, he rolled her onto her back. The motion made a bead of his sweat drop from his forehead to hers. He remained hilted in her the entire time, and held her by the backs of her thighs now, sinking his fingers hard into her muscular flesh.

"You found me alone," Dimitri went on. "You came to me. You didn't ask me to cover up." He grabbed her by the chin, held her face in place, forced her to meet his eye. "I think you like me like this. You don't miss the prince at all. You want the monster."

His hips snapped into hers, making an obscene noise that filled up the whole room, and all of Byleth's mind, besides. He kept speaking, but she hardly registered what he was saying: how good and tight she felt around his cock, wondering how many cocks she'd taken before him; how well she was taking him, and whether she thought he should come inside her. His words wound around her senses, filling her mind with a thick fog. -This- felt good. This was what she needed, Dimitri, holding her down.

Byleth worked her hand furiously, looking down at the place where their bodies joined, watching Dimitri's cock move in and out of her. His steady rhythm stuttered, and with a short, guttural noise in the back of his throat, his thrusts sped. He lay his whole body over her, pressing her into his mattress. Now he fucked her in short, sharp strokes that crushed her against the bed. She shoved her hips up into his every thrust, she was so close, she was desperate. At last, he hit something that sent her spiraling, clenching around him. The rest of her body went weak and the whole of her consciousness focused on the feeling of him inside of her as she came, helplessly, on his cock. She'd wanted this for years. She could die of this. She couldn't live without this.

Above her, Dimitri groaned at the feel of her around him. And he kept going. Byleth came down from her orgasm, and still, he fucked her. She was so sensitive it was painful. He sped up again, now pulling out almost all the way, now pushing all the way back in.

It was overwhelming. Distantly, she felt her Crest trying to heal the damage done to her; her blood didn't know the difference between an orgasm and a stab wound. For all of this, she did not have the strength to try to shove at him, to do anything more firm than saying, "Dimitri, stop." He kept going. "Dimitri, it's too much," she tried, and knew she sounded weak and pathetic, like she really was disposable for him.

He was merciless. He worked over her furiously, and with growing panic she felt his thrusts growing shorter and deeper again. He stopped—he threw his head back—and she felt him coming deep, deep inside her, felt him fill her up.

When he was finished, he didn't pull out. With a pit of fear opening in the pit of her stomach, Byleth waited underneath him, as his cock softened inside her. With a shaky hand, she brushed some hair away from his face.

"Crest of Blaiddyd or Crest of Flames?" Dimitri asked, pulling out of her, sounding for all the world as though he was wondering what she wanted for lunch. She felt a dribble of his come trickle down her inner thigh to pool on the bed beneath her.

It took her a moment to understood what he meant.

"We'll never know," she said flatly. If he'd gotten her pregnant... she could go to Manuela. They were in the middle of a war. She couldn't carry a child. What if all of her powers went into the thing? She couldn't risk it. Dimitri nudged her legs apart and peered between her legs with an animal curiosity, spreading her lips to look at her cunt, and she shuddered.

She considered turning back time, just a few minutes, a half-hour, in order to fight harder, to leave sooner, to not have come to this tower at all. But Dimitri worked two fingers into her, pushing his come deeper into her, and even after what he'd put her through, it was still unbearable. She made a tiny, hurt noise. He ignored it. He lowered his head between her legs, yanking one of her thighs over his shoulder so she was completely open to him. Then he put his mouth to her, lapping at her, though—or perhaps because—she knew he couldn't taste it. He wrung the second orgasm out of her painstakingly, gave her no quarter, sucked at her clit until she scrabbled at the top of his head pleaded him to let her be.

"Why," she said, gasping for air, when he'd pulled off of her.

"You were there," Dimitri said. He was panting from the effort he'd just gone through. "I wanted you."

Byleth threw her forearm over her face and composed herself. Even if she turned back time now to avoid this, it wouldn't erase her memory. What had happened had happened. and it was over now. Slowly, she sat up, and gave Dimitri a curt nod.

There was a dirty mirror across the room, and she did not recognize the woman she saw in it: her hair was mussed, her face was red, there were dark bruises rising on her thighs where he'd held her. She tried smiling, but it felt wrong. She tried frowning, but it also felt wrong. Dimitri ran a curiously gentle hand down her naked back, distracting her from her attempts at making the right facial expression.

"I've already told the healers to save their energy for the troops. You'll have to heal without magic after the next battle," she said, sliding off the bed and trying to find her clothes. "I won't let you die, but I won't make it easy on you if you do something foolish."

He didn't acknowledge this. She felt the soreness between her legs as soon as she took a step, but it was just pain. The sweater had landed in a pile of dirty dishes; her shorts and tights were gone entirely, and she picked through his pile of clean laundry until she found a pair of his trousers she that could roll up to a respectable length.

"Come back tomorrow night," he demanded, suddenly.

Byleth didn't respond, or even turn back to look at him. How easily she'd given in. How little consideration he'd had for her, and how hard he'd made her come regardless.

There: she was dressed. She was Dimitri's professor again, and it didn't matter that she was still wet with their mingled fluids, or that she could still feel the imprint of his hands on her breasts and her throat. She turned and looked back at him, lying on the bed, his body more relaxed than she'd seen it since she came back. His golden hair caught the last rays of light coming in from the window, and the look on his beautiful face was stubborn. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was going to fuck her again, whether she wanted it or not. Whether she came to him or not, he was not going to give her a choice in the matter. She set this fact aside for later consideration.

"Be more careful," Byleth said, shifting from foot to foot, feeling the ache between her thighs. "And come to training tomorrow. Your form is sloppy."

With a bitter laugh, he waved her off. It was as close to acquiescence as she would get; she left the tower, satisfied with that.


End file.
